


Everyday Superhero

by kay_emm_gee



Series: the kids aren't alright (The 100 tumblr prompts) [21]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartenders, F/M, Meet-Cute, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-27
Updated: 2015-05-27
Packaged: 2018-04-01 11:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4017985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kay_emm_gee/pseuds/kay_emm_gee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Bellarke + pickup line (Boy: I want to be a superhero. Guess my name? Girl: Superman? Ironman? Boy: No, Yourman!)</p><p>Summary: Working as a bartender, Clarke has heard her share of pick-up lines, mostly from inebriated idiots who she wouldn't ever consider dating. Occasionally, though, luck is with her, and a certain freckled guy in a backwards baseball cap proves that not every pickup line, and not every guy, is a disappointment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyday Superhero

Her hair tie had torn. That was how Clarke knew it was going to be a bad night working at the bar. And it only went downhill from there. One of the favorite beers on tap was out, gaining her endless dirty looks from just about every type of customer. The ice machine broke, and so Harper had to run out to get bags of ice to compensate, leaving Clarke alone behind the counter with Murphy for a substantial amount of time, which was never a good combination. Then a bachelorette party had come in and proceeded to break three rounds of shot glasses followed by insistently, crudely yelling for strippers, even though Clarke firmly and repeatedly explained  _we’re not that kind of bar, ladies, sorry to disappoint._

Now, as she twisted her hair at the nape of her neck for the umpteenth time, trying to keep it out of the way (she had yet to succeed at that), a hazy-eyed frat bro in a violently bright collared shirt had sprawled across the bar counter, calling for  _honey, hey honey, got a minute?_

“Does it look like I have a minute?” She barked, pulling four beers at once from the cooler, popping their tops, and sliding them to the girl on her right. As Clarke grabbed the cash they left and stowed it in her apron, she continued, “You have three seconds to give me your drink order before I move on.”

“I just need one minute, blondie,” he slurred. “I gotta ask you something.”

She just continued filling other customers’ orders, hoping he would go away. No such luck, though, not on a night like this.

He waved his hand jerkily, obviously trying (and failing) to get her attention. “This is my question: did it hurt? When you fell?”

Clarke stopped dead in her tracks, tequila bottle in one hand, glass of ice in the other, and just stared so disbelievingly at this idiot who was trying to hit on her using the most cliché pickup line known on earth. Somewhere to her left she thought she heard Murphy’s nasty chuckle, and the guy just continued grinning at her dopily.  _Fucking hell_.  _She did not need this tonight._

Before she could respond, or, you know, throw the tequila bottle at the guy’s head, and maybe even the glass too, someone else interjected.

“Hey, Glo-Brite. Can I ask  _you_  a question?”

Both Clarke’s and the guy’s attention turned to who was speaking, which would be another guy, this one dressed in a simple black T-shirt and a backwards baseball cap. A half-finished beer sat in front of him on the counter, and he was perfectly positioned to be watching the baseball game playing on the TV above the bar. He wasn’t looking at the screen though, instead staring with a narrowed, almost disgusted gaze at the guy in the collared shirt. Or, Glo-Brite, as Baseball Cap had so aptly observed.

Glo-Brite scoffed, turning his gaze back to Clarke, but she was still looking at Baseball Cap, who, locked eyes with hers and raised his eyebrows in question.

_You got it, or can I help?_

Normally Clarke would handle the idiot herself—it was one of the reasons Indra had hired her—but honestly, the orders were backing up, and she really didn’t need to get yelled at by her boss tonight because she had doused a customer in tequila (again). So she nodded at Baseball Cap, turning around to finish mixing the next drink as he confronted Glo-Brite.

Their voices grew louder as the two guys got into it. Clarke tried to ignore them, because Murphy was yelling orders at her faster than the pitcher was throwing the baseball at the game. Still, she couldn’t help but smirk as she listened to Baseball Cap verbally eviscerate the human glow stick. After a few more choice words were exchanged between them, she heard Glo-Brite stalk away in a huff. Sighing in relief, she reached for a glass, filling it with one of their premium drafts and set it down in front of Baseball Cap.

“Thanks for the help,” she said, flashing an actual, genuine, real-Clarke smile at him, instead of her bartender grin that she typically used on the customers. “This one’s on the house.”

“My sister would’ve kicked my ass if I hadn’t stepped up,” he replied, returning her smile. “Though I bet you would’ve handled yourself just fine in any case.”

“You got that right,” she admitted.

“And seriously, I don’t mind paying for the beer. I’ll even tip, too.”

“Seriously, just take the free beer.”

He just grinned at her, sliding a twenty onto the bar.

Frowning in a mocking manner, she murmured, “I’m not going to take it.”

“Then someone else will.”

Sighing, because he was being impossible, she gripped the edge of her side of the bar, leaning forward a bit to take the weight off her aching heels. After staring at her for one more second, his eyes flicked back up to the TV, and she took advantage of his inattention to observe him. Broad features spattered with freckles and framed by dark curls, he was more attractive than was fair, really. Biting her lip in consideration, she grinned as a thought came to her.

“You can pay me with something else,” she offered, and his attention jerked back to her instantaneously.

“What, you going to ask for my number?” He teased, and she let out a light laugh.

“No, I don’t harass customers like that. But, given what just happened, and going with that theme, if you give me the cheesiest pick up line you’ve ever heard, we’ll call it even.”

“Give me a minute, I gotta think this one through,” he said, quirking his lips contemplatively.

“Nope, right now, or deal’s off and you get a free beer.”

“Oh c’mon, I can’t decide that quickly—see, my sister’s dated some real winners in her time. There’s just so much crappy material to choose from.”

“Offer’s going in three, two—”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay! If I was a superhero, do you know what my name would be?”

Clarke drummed her fingers on the bar, looking up at the dingy ceiling as she pretended to think. “Um, I don’t know, what?”

“You gotta guess,” he said with a chuckle. “Hint: The last syllable rhymes with pan.”

“Super-man? Iron-man?”

“Your man,” he said, giving her the biggest smile, his voice turning extremely sappy.

Tipping her head back, Clarke let out a peal of laughter because he had genuinely surprised her. She had never heard that one before, as shocking as that was even in her three years as a bartender.

When she looked back, his eyes were twinkling with satisfaction, and maybe, _maybe_  just a little bit of attraction.  _Bad idea, Clarke,_ she thought in disappointment. It was never a good idea to try and mix business with pleasure; she knew she had to let this one go.

So, with a sigh and a shake of her head, she rapped her knuckles on the counter. “We’re square now, yeah? You’ve paid for your beer, more than sufficiently with that hell of a line.”

He tipped his head at her in agreement, still grinning, then reached for the full glass to take a sip. Soon enough his eyes darted back to the screen, engaged by the game again. Sometime later when she looked back over while mixing a Tom Collins, she caught him yelling at the umpire, face red and a litany of swears pouring from his lips. It made her laugh, and she stood there a minute watching him, almost wishing he would look over at her. He didn’t, though, and then Harper needed her help down at the other end of the bar, so she had to put him out of her thoughts lest she mess up an order or spill something.

By the time she had a second to look back over, though, he was gone, and Clarke tried very hard to ignore the way her stomach twisted disappointedly. It was for the best, she figured, to leave their interaction as it had been: short, sweet, and very fleeting. No need to ruin it by trying to make something more from it.

She managed to survive on that reasoning for another week, right up until one slow weekend afternoon at the bar when she spotted a very familiar backwards baseball cap-wearing guy sitting at one of the tables in the back.

Clarke had rules about not hitting on customers, but she also had rules about not making the same mistake twice. So, serving tray cocked on the side of her hip, she ambled up to him, smiling her real-Clarke smile, trying not to blush as he looked up from his book, recognized her, and grinned back brightly. Sticking out her hand, she introduced herself, hoping she hadn’t read him wrong that night.

She hadn’t. His name was Bellamy, and he was free next Friday to take her out for beers, on him this time, as he insisted quite vehemently.

And Clarke did indeed agree to let him pay— _and even with real money too_ , _this time,_  she teased,  _no cheesy pickup lines required whatsoever._

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably by far one of my favorite prompts I've written :)


End file.
